


Spring

by ddugeun



Category: Gintama
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Recovery, mentions of hijikata/mitsuba
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 09:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3525008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddugeun/pseuds/ddugeun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spring is a season of being reborn. The leaves on the trees grow back, turning a healthy shade of green. Flowers bloom beautifully and wildlife flourishes.<br/>Spring is a season of being reborn, of new beginnings and a new way of life. Spring is meant to be thriving, cold sunny days and a breath of fresh air.</p><p>Spring is also a season for mourning. Mourning the loss of what could have been, or what should have been. Some flowers are meant to bloom, and yet they don’t. Some leaves just don’t grow back. Some animals don’t survive. </p><p>Sometimes people don’t come back either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spring

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing for the gintama fandom, so I'm a little nervous about posting this~ (๑•́ ₃ •̀๑) I hope I managed to write them accurately enough.  
> the hijikata/mitsuba mentioned in the tags above is very similar to their relationship within canon - they had mutual feelings but they never dated. the depression mentioned is the effect of mitsuba's death on hijikata, so if this is a trigger for you please be careful! 
> 
> un-beta'd and written and 3am bc why the hell not (ヾ;￣▽￣)ヾ  
> enjoy!

Before he meets Gintoki, it’s spring. The air is cold and crisp, the wind slicing through even the thickest layers of clothing.

Spring is a season of being reborn. The leaves on the trees grow back, turning a healthy shade of green. Flowers bloom beautifully and wildlife flourishes.

Spring is a season of being reborn, of new beginnings and a new way of life. Spring is meant to be thriving, cold sunny days and a breath of fresh air.

 

Spring is also a season for mourning. Mourning the loss of what could have been, or what should have been. Some flowers are meant to bloom, and yet they don’t. Some leaves just don’t grow back. Some animals don’t survive.

 

Sometimes people don’t come back either.

 

Hijikata stares out of his bedroom window, his thin t-shirt hanging off his shoulders and his shorts riding low on his hips. He sees vibrant green grass, flowers and people walking around. It’s so close – all this life just waiting outside – that he could easily reach out and grab it. He could take life into his hands and cherish it. He could plant more flowers, he could grow vegetables and he could water the plants.

 

His room is dark, the lights off and the sun is more hidden away than it’s not.

Hijikata’s world, just like spring, should be vibrant and thriving and breathing and living and full of new chances and happiness and –

The greys and blacks and monochromes wash that all out. The darkness covers him like a suffocating blanket that holds him too tightly, keeping his blood simmering and his temperature just a little too warm. It coddles him and suppresses him so much he can barely move or breathe. His chest is constricted, bounds tied too tightly.

Hijikata doesn’t remember what it’s like to not feel like this. To not feel like there’s no point in waking up, to not feel like there’s no need to eat and to keep pushing away those who he holds close.

People reach out, but he can’t reach back.

 

The moonlight bathes him and his surroundings in bright light, casting dark shadows around his room. The dips in his collar bones, the edges of his jaw and his protruding rib cage are so sharp they could cut him.

 

Hijikata moves from his position at the window to his bed. He takes a few steps, knees weak and legs wobbling as he flops down onto the mattress.

There’s a lump in his throat, a heavy feeling at the bottom of his stomach and yet he doesn’t cry.

 

The others – his friends, family – tell him that it’ll get better. It’ll get easier to live and breathe without her. That one day, something will happen and everything will fall back into place again. He’ll be able to laugh and wake up early and eat a proper meal without feeling sick.

 

Hijikata stares up at the ceiling, and all he can see is an abyss of darkness looking back.

 

\--

 

Mitsuba’s death had hit them all hard, maybe Hijikata the hardest. He loved her, he knew he did, but it wasn’t enough. It’s never enough, is it? It’s never enough to just love someone, because loving someone can’t always bring happiness. It can’t always bring security and trust. Hijikata knows that deep down it’d never work. They could never date, never properly fall in love and never have a life together.

And the illness only certified this fact.

 

\--

 

Hijikata wakes up from a fading dream, and his vision is still monochrome. He feels the creaks and aches in his bones as he gets up, cold feet hitting the icy wooden flooring. He shakily makes his way over the window seat, grabbing his packet of cigarettes and his lighter from his bedside table. Leaning against the wall, legs pulled up to his chest, he lights up a cigarette, feeling the wave of calm wash over him as he inhales the smoke.

The sun is warm on his skin, and he lets the warmth spread deep into his aching muscles and his rigid bones. He inhales again, feeling the smoke trickle into his lungs and filling them up.

There’s something different about the view outside his window today. There are big vans and piles of boxes and a small group of people milling around outside the recently sold house which is opposite to him. He lets his head fall back until it touches the wall, almost wincing at the stretch of his neck and feeling his bones click satisfyingly.

He squints his eyes, taking a long drag of his cigarette and watching as the people opposite him moved and interacted. One guy in particular stood out from the rest. He was wearing black jeans and a plain white t-shirt with some embarrassing cartoon character on the front, but what really caught Hijikata’s attention was his hair. It shivered and fluttered in the breeze, almost looking like the colour of snow under the sunlight. He snorted, taking note of what an utter mess it was. Pieces of hair were stuck up at all angles, making it look like this guy had rolled out of bed and never bothered to ever brush it. Hijikata felt an unfamiliar feeling rising in his chest, like when your hands are frozen and you slowly try to warm them up. Watching this guy – laughing, smiling, and yelling at the people around him – made his heart _beat_. He felt it, the gentle _thump thump thump_ of it behind his rib cage.

Hijikata continued to watch the guy, eyes trained solely on him as he picked up a cardboard box, making funny faces as he secured his grip. There was something about this guy – something strong and charming and completely _new_ that Hijikata didn’t even realise that his cigarette ash had fallen into his lap and there was barely anything left of the thing.

The guy disappeared inside, leaving behind his colours, and Hijikata blinked out of his thoughts.

His stomach was churning, and he didn’t even realise that it was from _hunger_ and not disgust and regret and –

He shut down those thoughts.

Sliding off the window seat, ignoring the way the ash fell to the floor, he walked into the kitchen. He glances at a bag on the table, full of food he knows he wants but won’t be able to keep down.

He sees the note that Kondou left him, all smiley faces and ‘I miss you’s and Hijikata walks away.

He imagines if Mitsuba was still here, the house he owned that she frequented so often would be alive with noise and comfort. It would be full of different smells, colours, and her tinkling laughter that made him smile ever so slightly back. It would be full of his friends, lying around watching TV and drinking all the beer out of his fridge.

He stands in the middle of his kitchen, his heart frosting over again and he feels so _alone_. And he hates it. He regrets. He’s angry and vengeful and there are all these what ifs and buts that come to mind, but nothing can cushion the blow of reality.

 

Hijikata sighs, running his fingers through his dark hair and notices the way it falls into his eyes. He’s letting his hair grow long again, missing the way the ends brushed against the base of his neck. He misses a lot of things, Hijikata thinks.

He knows he should be doing something, maybe showering or getting dressed or maybe cleaning up the mess, but his eyelids feel heavy and his fingers are twitching for another cigarette. It’s so pathetic, and Hijikata can’t seem to do anything but laugh at himself.

 

He’s about to turn back around and head into his bedroom again, when there’s some very enthusiastic banging at his front door. He scowls, wondering if it’s Kondou or Sougo or Yamazaki (or God forbid, _all three of them_ ) that have come to pester him about life and how he _needs to get out more_ and –

The guy standing outside his front door isn’t any of them.

The guy blinks, fist still raised as to knock again, and he looks surprised that someone even answered the door. Then, almost as if that never happened, he’s waving and grinning.

“Hi! I just moved in across the street, and I was forc- ah, uh, _told_ to come introduce myself.”

Hijikata blinks owlishly back, his brain still not caught up because all he can see is red eyes and that same shimmering white ( _silver_? Hijikata wasn’t sure anymore) hair he saw from outside his bedroom window.

The guy frowns, letting his arm drop down beside him, “You alright?”

Hijikata startles, clearing his throat and nods, “Sorry. Still a little tired, it’s – uh, nice to meet you…?”

“Gintoki,” the guy grins again, and Hijikata feels that warm feeling slowly trickling back in, “And you are?”

“T-Toushirou,” Hijikata manages, his voice is rough and slightly wavers after not using it for a while.

“Cool name,” Gintoki replies, his grin slipping into more of a soft smile, “Sorry for bothering you though, you look like you were busy.”

Hijikata’s huffing out a laugh before he knows it, and his cheeks heat up slightly because – well, it’s rare he ever laughs. But this guy, this guy who he’s only just met, has already heard him laugh.

“Ah, not really.” Hijikata admits.

Gintoki laughs in return, and it almost shocks Hijikata how bright and loud it is and how his heart’s gentle thumps become a heavy thudding; and it’s – it’s enough to make him crack a small smile back.

“You live here alone then?” Gintoki questions. It’s an innocent thing to ask, and he sees Gintoki peering in and trying to get a glimpse of his house from behind Hijikata. Something in his chest aches, and he tries to shut it down as soon as it appears.

“Yeah,” is all Hijikata replies, but his brain is yelling at him _make this conversation last!_ “What about you?”

There’s an emotion that sweeps across Gintoki’s face then, his eyes turning soft and the corners of his lips tilting upwards ever so slightly, “Nah, I’ve got two kids with him. They’re not mine but they’re basically like family anyway.”

Hijikata nods, not really knowing what to say.

“Shinpachi – he’s the one with the glasses, and Kagura – the one with the bright orange hair. You’ll probably see them around a lot,” Gintoki says, shifting his weight onto one leg and placing one hand on his hip and the other behind his head to scratch his hair, “Ah, this moving business is tiring.”

“I- I, uh, could help you out if you want?” Hijikata stutters out before the words have even properly registered in his mind. _Shit_ , he thinks, _I sound like a fucking idiot!_

Gintoki’s face brightens up, his hand coming down to rest on his other hip, “That’d be great, actually. You could come round about five-ish to help out, if that’s alright with you?”

Butterflies in his stomach swarm and he feels his face heat up again, “S-Sure, I don’t mind. Got nothing better to do anyway.”

 

“Thanks,” Gintoki says and they just stand there looking at each other, Gintoki still grinning and Hijikata can feel his face turning an embarrassing shade of red, but he doesn’t dare look away.

Gintoki chuckles, “Well, it was great to meet you, neighbour! If you need anything, sugar or whatever it is, you can come visit! Though, I can’t guarantee having any left…” Gintoki’s face took on a more pensive look before he smiled again, “See ya around, Toshi!”

 

And with that, Gintoki was turning on his heels and jogging back down his path way and across the street.

Hijikata wrinkles his nose at the nickname and shuts his front door closed. He turns around, and a few stumbling steps back, his back hitting the wooden door and he hides his face in his hands. He’s laughing – shoulders shaking and lungs wheezing – and he ignores the feeling of tears making their way down his face.

 

 _This is it_ , he thinks humorously, _this is the start of something._

He breathes in deeply, and he imagines his bones rattling inside of him as he’s filled with something _warm_ and – it’s comforting. It’s comforting feeling something other than constant emptiness. Gintoki’s smile and his unruly hair flickers in his mind, and he’s walking towards his kitchen table for a cigarette before he even realises.

 

Hijikata thinks, lighting up a cigarette and letting it rest in between his lips. Maybe today he’ll phone his friends, assuring them that he’s okay and on his way back to recovery. But maybe he won’t, he doesn’t know yet. He takes a drag, the smoke billowing in front of him and hazing over his sight.

 

He doesn’t know what it was about Gintoki, but he has a feeling that just being around the guy would feel like a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

 

After he meets Gintoki, it’s still spring. The air is still cold and crisp, the wind slicing through even the thickest layers of clothing.

Spring is a season of being reborn, and sometimes things don’t work out how they’re meant to. But also, it’s a season of new chances and new beginnings, and maybe this is a new beginning for Hijikata.

Some flowers just don’t bloom, and some just take their time to flourish.


End file.
